2021 life list wrap up--328!

 

Well, 2021 was quite a year for birds. I tend to average about three new species a year, but for the past two years, I've blown my average out of the air. In 2020, I added 20 birds, and that was because of my first visit to the tropics, thanks to a family cruise which we were incredibly lucky to have scheduled about two weeks before COVID hit.

Last year, I blew past even that record, thanks to the motorhome in the photo above, and added 26 new birds. A lot of them came from our first major trip--five weeks across the country in October. While we were on the other side of the Rockies, I felt like I was getting a lifer every day. It was so amazing.

2021 birds:

February--Red Crossbill

March--Greater White Fronted Goose, Cackling Goose

May--Yellow-bellied Flycatcher, Cerulean Warbler

June--Dickcissel

Aug--Wilson's Phalarope

September--Brown Boobie, Stilt Sandpiper, Red-necked Phalarope

October-- Black-billed Magpie, Towsend's Solitaire, Steller's Jay, Mountain Chickadee, Mountain Bluebird, Western Bluebird, Lesser Goldfinch, Pygmy Nuthatch, Violet-green Swallow, Prairie Falcon, Western Scrub Jay, Black-throated Sparrow, Western Grebe, Curve-billed Thrasher, Anna's Hummingbird.

December--Surf Scoter

This brings my life list up to 328! 

But of course, as exciting as seeing a lifer is, the best parts of birding are always the long walks with my binoculars and soaking in the early morning songs of spring, seeing eagles and loons from my kayak, watching chickadees at my feeders, spotting an owl watching me, pointing out a new bird to my family, and taking day trips with Dennis and Clover to see what we might see. All of those things happened last year, too.

My binoculars are ready for whatever 2022 flies at me!

Happy Birding, everyone.

More Lifers!

 

Two more lifers! Numbers 309 and 310.

The first was a Wilson's Phalarope, down on Shelburne Bay. It was spotted early in the morning from the access area with some Lesser Yellowlegs along the beach. When Dennis and I got there later in the day, several other birders were already looking for it. One of them found it shortly. A lovely little shorebird who is supposed to be in the western part of the country right now, and he was feeding with great gusto, probing the sand with his long bill and turning around and going in a different direction so quickly it was hard to keep him in view.

While I was focused on him, two fishermen came up behind me, and one of them asked, "What is that amazing bird?"

I was baffled for a second because there was no way they could see the phalarope without magnification. Then I realized they were gazing at a Great Egret, standing in the shallow water close by. It was beautiful, pure white, regal, and much more common than the object of my attention. I hadn't exactly overlooked the egret, but I hadn't been staring at it, the way the two fishermen assumed I was. I told them it was an egret, and then mentioned that there was a much rarer bird further down the beach, and that's what the other birders and I had come to see. One of them said, "Oh, so you're a birdwatcher?" I said I was, and they nodded. Then they thanked me for identifying the egret and went on their way. I watched the phalarope for a while longer, then took a  photo of the egret, and went on my way, too.

A few days later, reports of a Brown Booby started appearing on my eBird feed, down near Bennington on Lake Paran. At first I didn't believe it, because boobies are tropical oceanic birds, but hurricanes are known for blowing birds all around the world, and there have been two hurricanes up our way recently. So the next morning, Dennis and I headed off on a road trip, even though there had been no new reports of the booby since late afternoon. We were almost to our destination, pretty sure we were going to be disappointed, when an eBird report popped up of a Brown Booby at Emerald Lake State Park, which was about half an hour north of Lake Paran. So we changed course, and at the gate, we were told that yes, someone had mentioned seeing a rare bird earlier that morning. We paid our entrance fee and followed the trail to the lake, but there was no booby waiting for us. Undaunted, we took the path along the water's edge, hoping the bird hadn't just made a quick stop here. I walked slowly, scrutinizing the shoreline, while Dennis went ahead. Suddenly he called out, and I caught up to him just in time to see an amazing bird flying up the lake. It passed right over our heads, looking down, as if it was as interested in a pair of Vermonters as we were of it.

Boobys look, to my Vermont eye, very foreign. They have long, narrow, pointed wings, a thick, long bill, and a distinct brown back and head and white bellies. This one swept over us, dove for a fish, and vanished toward the area we'd just come from. We hurried in its wake just in time to see it land in a thick evergreen. Immediately, someone having lunch with their family called out, "What was that bird?"

As I explained, another birder arrived, and I happily pointed it out to her. We watched it sitting and preening its feathers for about twenty minutes before it headed back to the southern end of the lake. I made my eBird report, and then Dennis and I sat down at a picnic table and ate our lunch, directing the birders who began to arrive to where they could likely spot it.

I'm used to the comradery of birders, but it's always so nice when people who aren't necessarily out looking for birds get interested, too, drawn in by a bird's beauty or striking presence. I always hope that sharing my enthusiasm with someone new might be what triggers them to look more closely at the next bird that catches their eye. And right now, anything that draws people together instead of pushing them apart is a good thing.

As of Sunday, September 5, the Wilson's Phalarope has moved on. But the Brown Booby is still at Emerald Lake State Park. Go, hurry, it's awesome!

Kayaking around Marble Island

Double crested cormorant

Canada geese

Great blue heron

A cave on Marble Island

Bike ferry

When I go for my early morning paddles from camp, I usually avoid other people as much as possible, but sometimes it's fun to poke around in the marina across the bay and look at other boats. I also found twenty-two species of birds, including a loon who called before I was out of bed, a peregrine falcon, and a red bellied woodpecker. An otter popped its head out of the water near me, two turtles looked me over, and there were some wet mink tracks on the deck when I went down to launch.

I also saw lots of fancy boats, though I've yet to meet one I'd rather have than my pretty blue kayak.

 
 

Summer Birding (and other Things)

 

Summer days aren't always like this on the lake, but something to be savored when they are. This was taken on July 12, not from my kayak, but from my bike, on the Colchester Causeway. It's been one of my favorite places to ride, or walk, for as long as I can remember, and worthy of a Carver's Daughter article soon, I think. I always feel rejuvenated, and tired, when I return to land from a biking voyage across the lake.

The birding has been lovely this summer. Another bird for my life list--a Dickcissel, in Hinesburg. He has apparently found a mate after several weeks of singing alone, and is nesting here, which I believe is a record for Vermont. Usually they are found farther west and south. This is my sixth new bird for this year, bringing my total to 308. I'm gaining on my goal of 314, which probably looks rather arbitrary, but it's not. This is the number of birds my father had on his life list when I started mine. At the time, it seemed unreachable, and it's exciting to be getting close. (His total grew quickly beyond 314 once he began travelling to the tropics.)

All the regulars have been hanging out at camp with us this summer, especially a plethora of cardinals whose song is so evocative of their brilliant beauty. The peregrines decided for some reason only known to peregrines not to grace us with their presence on their nesting cliffs this year. But they are still very much in the area, diving past the windows and scoring the air with their harsh calls. I love their fierceness. (Dennis loves them a little bit less, especially their habit of hunting at dawn. Loudly.) A female common merganser swims by with the family in a line behind her, the phoebes under the camp are on their second brood, and the hummingbirds are emptying the feeder daily. On the mammal front--a doe has claimed the meager grazing around our camp as her favorite spot, and three minks gambol along their path to and from the water every day. An occasional skunk comes by at night, judging from the smell that comes and thankfully goes with it, and once in a while, a fox appears in our headlights and then vanishes.

A lot of wind (and more recently a leg injury which is now on the mend) have prevented me from doing as much kayaking as I'd like to. And we haven't been spending quite as much time here during the day as we have other years. Dennis and I added a motorhome (a thirty-two foot Jayco Greyhawk Prestige) to the family in June, and we've been having fun getting it ready to roll. Lots of outfitting and decorating, practice drives, pairing it to the Jeep (now called our "toad") and figuring out stuff like what an inverter is and exactly what do the solar panels do up there? Oh, and we had to have our driveway regravelled to make it level and prevent the new addition from sinking up to the solar panels next mud season. All good stuff, but time consuming. Hopefully we aren't driving our neighbors crazy going up and down our quiet dirt road with what one of them has dubbed "the sexy rumble." (Someone else calls it "the Bantha"--think huge, hairy, lumbering Star Wars creature that carries folks around. And it has also been referred to as "that Thing." Sometime, it will have an official name. We have also observed that it is a reverse Tardis--bigger on the outside than on the inside.)

I expect that my life list will grow a lot more this fall and winter when we go rumbling off to warmer climes in the Sexy Bantha Reverse Tardis Thing. But for now, I'm enjoying the sun and the wind and rain here, listening to the cardinals sing.

I hope everyone is having an lovely summer, too.

Two More Lifers!

It's been an odd spring for birds so far, at least from what I'm hearing on the birdvine. I suspect the weather is to blame--it got warm early, then cooled off, then started flip-flopping from chilly to hot to chilly, and it has been very dry. I know it has made me unsettled, and I suspect birds are reacting as well, with a kind of, "Oh, let's just get where we're going and not hang around so those people with binoculars can stare."

But I'm not complaining--I've added two birds to my life list in the last two weeks. The first, I'm very proud of because I found it all by myself here at camp--a Yellow-bellied Flycatcher. I had a near miss with one a few years ago here--seen, but not well enough to identify. They aren't awfully rare, just not common. So I listened to a recording of the Flycatcher's song to make it fresh in my brain, and the next day, I heard one while I was sitting outside. (Sounds a lot like a Least Flycatcher, but the "chee bek" call is not repeated as often.) I followed the song through the woods for half an hour, and finally got a clear look at the bird on a branch against the sky. It was much like a Phoebe, only yellower. It was the song that made me sure. I haven't heard him since, so I'm sure he's travelled on, and I was very lucky. 

Then I started seeing eBird reports of a Cerulean Warbler, much more rare, in Woodside Park in Colchester. I was a little doubtful of my luck since warblers are hard to see and not known for hanging around. But when I arrived, there was a handful of birders already there, looking intently into the trees. I got excited, but it turns out they were just hearing it, not seeing it, high in trees down a bank on the other side of a fence. And then it stopped singing. We waited and waited, but it did not resume. Then another group of birders arrived, and they beckoned to us--it was singing over near where we'd parked. So we rushed over there and stood and stared, but it remained out of sight. I was starting to get that familiar sinking feeling when yet another group of birders arrived. Fresh eyes did the trick, and we all got quick peeks at the Cerulean's lovely blue feathers as it fed on insects high up in the canopy. There are definite benefits to birding with others, and I am always amazed at the comradery that exists between total strangers who recognize kinship with others who have a pair of binoculars around their necks.

One night last week just after sunset, I heard a Whippoorwill. I can remember hearing them as a child while lying in bed at night, the mournful repetitions through the darkness that always resulted in the sound of my father's footsteps thundering down the stairs. It's probably been forty years since I heard one here, and the sound caught me and held me motionless until it fell silent. Then I grabbed my binoculars and thundered down the stairs, but it stayed silent. I sat outside and listened for almost an hour, but there were only the sound of the waves, and thousands of mosquitoes droning. I really was hoping to see the Whippoorwill, because I never have, and therefore can't count it. Someday...

It's all part of what makes birding so special.

Unexpected Vistors

 

Barred Owl, February 5, 2021

Pileated Woodpecker, April 6, 2021

I had two unexpected feeder visitors this year. The owl took Clover and me by surprise when I flicked on the outside light one snowy night as we were getting ready to go out. The owl looked at us as we both jumped, then completely ignored us and went back to watching the ground below the feeders for any mice that might venture out onto its dinner table. Clover and I just stood there a while, and I took a few quick photos, then I turned off the light and we backed away, leaving the owl to its hunting. When we looked back out fifteen minutes later, the owl had gone. But judging from the snow that had built up on its head, it had been there for a while.

The female pileated woodpecker flew in just as unexpectedly while Dennis and I were having breakfast. We both froze as she began to eat, so I dared to reach for my phone to take a photo. Then, a heartbeat later, she was gone. We had been aware of pileated woodpeckers all winter during our walks, but why one suddenly discovered our suet feeders, I don't know. Perhaps she had been here before when we weren't lucky enough to see her.

Unfortunately, I had to take my feeders down the next day. In the past, we have had other unexpected visitors, the kind with four paws, big claws, and lots of teeth. Those who know me know that I don't do bears well--kind of like how some people wig out at the sight of eight-legged critters, or those that go "squeak." After losing all my feeders on two separate occasions, I am now quick to declare an end to the bird feeding season when the temperatures warm up and hibernation season ends. (I tried bringing the feeders in at night, but that just made the visitor come during the day. Once I would have walked right into its jaws if our trusty golden retriever Ruby hadn't literally gotten between me and the door and refused to let me go out. It was just like in a movie. Not sure what Clover would do--probably want to go out and play with it.)

So we'll be feederless until next fall, which is sad, but the spring migration is getting underway, the days are getting longer, and the unexpected is always possible.

Red Crossbills! Lifer!

 

Some birds just elude me. Red Crossbills in particular. They're really cool birds whose beaks don't meet like normal bird's. The top and bottom parts cross over each other at the tip, which makes their beaks perfect for prying seeds out of evergreen cones. Crossbills are rare in VT, but not that rare. People find them in parking lots. Not me. This winter, I vowed I was going to see one, and I've lost track of how many times Dennis and I have been to the nearby Saxon Hill Recreation Area in Jericho after reading tantalizing eBird reports of them hanging out there in spruce trees. The closest I got was seeing two birds fly overhead that I kinda, maybe, hopefully thought were my targets, but kinda, maybe, hopefully doesn't quite cut it for the life list.

There are actually two kinds of Crossbills around here--Red Crossbills, and White-winged Crossbills. A long time ago, I was riding on the back of the Green Mountain Audubon's gathering tank in the sugar orchard when my father slammed on the brakes of the tractor and shouted, "Crossbills!" He pointed them out, and we watched them for a long time. But he never said which kind they were, so I couldn't count them when I later started my life list. Several years ago, a flock of White-winged Crossbills graced the green on the UVM campus in front of the theater for a few weeks, and I was able to find them.

Then a few weeks ago, an eBird report popped up that a flock of Red Crossbills had been seen near some apartments on the UVM campus. I took this as an omen for success. We had to go to Burlington anyway, so I grabbed my binoculars. Soon we were driving around the apartment complex, but it was a little discouraging, and there were more apartments than spruce trees, and nowhere to park, and Covid cases were on the rise down that way... I gave up, and we pulled back onto the street. And right there on the corner was a clump of spruce trees, and at the tops were bunches of cones, and yes! Six Red Crossbills happily eating seeds with their awesome little beaks. There was no traffic, so Dennis pulled over, and I watched them from the car for ten minutes, socially distanced and everything.

So now I can really, certainly, definitely add Red Crossbills to my life list (number 303!). And how ironic is it that I've found two species for my list in downtown Burlington, and they were both Crossbills? 

The spruces in my photo have the Red Crossbills in them, but they're too small to see. This is a habitat shot, and if you've read The Carver's Daughter, you'll know what that means!